Make me the wrong word in that poem you wrote at 2:45 a.m when sleep kept eluding you. I want to be the word that keeps you awake. I want to be the rhyme that trips you, stubborn and uneven, refusing to align with the neat meter of your lines. Make me that space in your screen you examine over and over, looking for the right combination of letters to complete your verse. I want to be the empty space at the end of the arrogant fragment that frustrates you.
Maybe then you’ll look at me once more.
I want to be your bad decision. Make me the story you tell your friends over cold bottles of beer on a Friday night, the cautionary tale of love gone insane. Tell them about that day I broke picture frames while you almost broke the bones in your hands punching the wall next to my ear. Reenact the way I screamed at you, those acidic curses you spit at me. Play charades. Let them guess which monster I became. Draw me in the air with your hands, describe my movements with your fingers, let your eyes sparkle with anger and hate at my memory.
Maybe then you’ll remember me.
Let me be the shot of tequila that brings you over the edge. I want to be the one that takes you to the far side of sober. I want to be the reason you slur your words, the translucent film over your eyes as your vision starts to get blurred. I want to be the reason you regret everything in the morning. I want to be that touch of caution that flickers over your face as you raise your glass to your lips the next time you go to a bar. I want to be the heaviness in your arms, the churning in your stomach, and the rough spot in your throat that alcohol and cigarettes scorched.
Maybe then your skin will think of me again.
I’d like to be that tingle of fear you feel as you take the shortcut to your house at night, the one with the dark alley where there’s almost always no one around. I want to be adrenaline, I want to be the blood in your veins pumping, your eyesight hyper clear as you remain vigilant to danger that’s hiding in those dark corners.
Maybe then you’ll be reminded of how I used to make your heart race.
I’ve never known how to stay in one place for long. I’ve never learned how to be the right choice for anyone. I don’t know how to be a good thing. Some chances are only given once and we made such a mess with ours. So I’ll gladly be the mistake you learn from, a brilliant burst of passion that will sear your mind and leave a part of it permanently burnt.
I want you to be branded into your brain. I want our nights and our days to be tattooed behind your eyes covering your line of sight when something reminds me of you. I want to be the violence in your chest when something makes you think of my name. We were twisted and tragic together, you and I, but from you I never want to disappear. I will take this over memories that have ceased to exist.
I want you to memorize me as I have memorized you. I want this because I don’t want to be the only one left remembering. I want to know that we counted no matter how bad it became. I need to know that there is salvation in the end even when we’re too far gone for change.
Sometimes I think that love is simply a wish not to be forgotten, and I’d rather be your mistake than nothing at all.